Let's See Who Wins
by GoldenFalcon1
Summary: Max was engineered to be the perfect assassin. Fang was engineered to be the perfect bodyguard. She won't be forgetting this mission anytime soon. FAX
1. A New Mission

**1: A New Mission**

"Max?" He says. "Max, are you in here?"

Taking a deep breath, I steady my aim and point the pistol directly at his defenseless back. Breathe in. Breathe out. As natural as it could be.

"Boom," I say, loud enough for him to hear. "You'd be dead by now, if I wanted to kill you."

"You could get rid of anyone," he says teasingly as he turns around. "I know you could. Don't aim that thing at me, Max! I just came to congratulate you on the spectacular way you took out the target in training the other day."

"Thanks," I answer with a slight shrug. Compliments make me uneasy, but for some reason Dylan likes peppering me with a never-ending stream of them. Maybe he feels obliged to compliment me because we're supposed to be partners, as if that means we're supposed to be friends or something. To be honest, I'm not really interested in being friends despite the mutual trust we've formed over the years. I'm an _assassin_. This business is dangerous. We don't _do_ mushy things like friendship.

"I overheard one of the doctors say we have a new assignment," he says, sounding excited. "It's going to be the toughest yet. What do you think?"

"We'll finish it anyway. We've never failed before," I return curtly.

"Right. I have faith in you, Max. I know we can do it." Not for the first time, the thought that he should be a greeting-card-writer flashes through my mind. He's got a gift for coming up with sappy things, and then he says them and he seems so _earnest_. If I tried to say things like that, I'd find myself hard-pressed to keep a straight face.

Of course, then _she_ has to come in. My little house - or 'habitat,' as they call it - contains the absolute necessities for existence without complete boredom. It's more like a collection of rooms, really - a bedroom, a bathroom, a training room, a weapons room, a modest living room - and once a day I'm taken out to monitor my fitness and skill levels. If I'm lucky, a couple of times a month I get released into the real world for an assassination mission with Dylan. It's not like I _enjoy_ hunting down people with Mr. I'm-So-Perfect, but it sure beats being stuck in here for the rest of my life.

Dr. Brigid strides through the place to where we sit on the white couch and sits primly across from us. Her manicured nails tap against her clipboard.

"Look, it's Dr. Amazing," I mutter under my breath. "What could she possibly have to say? More training exercises?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Not quite, Max. Dylan is correct - you are to be released into the real world tomorrow to assassinate a certain target. I will give you the necessary information shortly, but you'll have to wait while the packets are printing."

"Who is this target?" Dylan asks earnestly.

"There are two targets," Dr. Brigid replies, her voice becoming grave. "In order to kill one, you must first eliminate the other."

"Sounds easy enough," I say, folding my arms.

"One of them is an avian mutant," she continues, with a pointed glance at me as if to say, _this won't be that easy._

Yeah, right. I do my best to look unimpressed, but Dylan looks concerned. "Really? Who?"

A research assistant hurries up, packets in hand, and hands them to Dr. Brigid, who in turn gives them to us.

"Turn to page 41," she instructs, "and here is your first target."

I've already found him. The sketch shows a boy about my age with dark, somber eyes and a lean, wiry build. His hands are in his pockets, and ravenlike wings sprout from his back. His expression is wary, as if he's expecting an attack at any moment.

"He's a formidable enemy," Dr. Brigid says. "He must be eliminated at all costs."

Dylan nods, eyes narrowed as he studies the paper. "Do we know why?"

"It is not your business to know," Dr. Brigid says, her voice chilling. "I expect you to have these packets memorized by tomorrow. Understand?"

I look down at the dark-eyed boy again, scanning for his name. Finally, I find it, a name that describes him in a single, sharp syllable:

_Fang._

**_a/n:_ **So I'm aware that this plot has been done several times - Max is sent to assassinate Fang and eventually falls for him - which is why I'm planning something completely different. I can't say exactly what or I'll spoil it, but let's just say that their love won't be at first sight. Expect a good number of plot twists and a cat-and-mouse-esque game, except it's not clear who's the cat and who's the mouse.


	2. One Death At A Time

**2: One Death at a Time**

So, we've already established that Fang was a super-duper bodyguard. I mean, who doesn't want a _flying bodyguard_? Did I mention he _flies_? Yeah, I completely forgot about him after I saw the next target.

"Flip to page 67," Dr. Brigid orders.

I'm already staring at it. At the sketch of the girl on the page. Her arms are folded, and her face is defiant. Dylan leans forward, and his eyebrows are furrowed. "Wait. Did you print the wrong picture, or something?"

"There are no mistakes," Dr. Brigid says smoothly. "This is the girl you must kill."

"She looks exactly like Max!" Dylan bursts out. "What's going on?"

"Her name is _Maya,_" Dr. Brigid explains nonchalantly as she twirls her pen in her fingers. "And, no, if you're wondering, she doesn't have wings."

"Why does she look exactly like me?" I demand. "Who is this _Maya_?"

"Your clone," Dr. Brigid shrugs, in the same way someone might say _your cousin_. "Don't worry, you two still look different. If you haven't noticed, there are pink streaks in her hair." She flips to the next page. "Now, let's move forward-"

"I'm seriously starting to reconsider this mission," I grumble, folding my arms. "Killing my clone? I didn't even know I had one!"

"No questions. You will be given all you need, so study that packet in preparation," Dr. Brigid nods. "And Max, I need to talk with you. Come with me."

Dylan seems worried, probably hoping that I don't get into trouble. To be honest, I couldn't really care less. I put the packet down, not-too-gently, and stand.

"Fine," I say sarcastically, brushing my clothes off. "I guess you're looking for some feedback on what color we should paint my habitat. I'm going to suggest a light blue."

Dr. Brigid almost takes me seriously, but then her frown shows disapproval. Without another word, she turns on her heel and heads off into the hallway, expecting me to follow her. Dylan swats at me with the packet. "Hey, don't get on her bad side," he says in a hushed tone. "You _do_ want to go on the mission, don't you?"

"I didn't know I'd have to kill my clone!"

"It's still the only chance we have to see the real world. Please?"

"I'll try," I say, unwilling to promise much. "I've got to go."

"See you."

* * *

Dr. Brigid turns to face me, her fingernails still tapping a steady rhythm on the clipboard. "Max. It has come to my attention that you aren't acting nearly as nice to Dylan as he is to you."

"Is _this_ what you want to talk about? Don't you want us to just get the job done?" I shift my weight back and forth, glancing down the blank white hallway.

"We have plans for you two," she says quietly. "Great plans. Would you like to know what they are?" That question was just begging for a sarcastic answer. Dr. Brigid must have had the same thought, because she held up her hand and continued. "Wait. Don't answer that. Max, you have been specially designed to be the ultimate assassin."

"I know."

"But only when you work as a team. Dylan _balances_ you. He is, in a way, your other half."

"We're partners. Nothing else," I say flatly.

"You've both been _designed_ that way - to be partners in every sense of the term. We expect you two to eventually cleanse evil from this world so people can live in peace-"

"-one death at a time? That sounds like a fool-proof plan to me," I smirk, "rid the world of evil by killing people. 'Cause that's not evil at all. Yeah, there's no way that could fail."

Her mouth twists unpleasantly. "You might not have been aware, but we are already well on our way ensuring the destruction of evil. The people you target have been carefully chosen. Ah, but never mind, back to the main subject - you and Dylan. Two skilled assassins, each with their own strengths. He can charm his way anywhere, and you...well, you just kill."

She looks at me as if this was supposed to be an insult, but I don't react.

"So remember that you two share a great destiny; you will pave the path for the creation of a dazzlingly bright future for humanity."

_One death at a time_, I almost add, but somehow manage to stay silent.

Dr. Brigid tilts her head as she studies my face. "Please do try to be more friendly to Dylan. He's so desperately in love with you, and you repeatedly brush him off. We can't have you continue doing that if you two are to lead the beginning of a new world together."

"I don't intend to 'create a new world' with anyone," I say, a trace of contempt edging into my voice. "I don't care about some great destiny we supposedly share. I don't care who's in love with who, although you're most likely making that up to make me feel guilty. And it's not working. I'm not the hero, got it? I'm kill. It's what I do. That's all."

Dr. Brigid sighs, as if she can't believe what I'm saying. "We have so much more in store for you, Max. But, in the least, let's start with being nicer to Dylan, shall we?"

"Maybe if you paint the walls light blue," I muse, looking off into the distance. "And maybe you should tell me why I have to kill my clone."

Her eyes harden. "Maya is physically identical to you except for the wings. That and her whereabouts are all you need to know. You are working to better the human race - that is all that matters in the end."

"I'd rather read that entire packet than listen to you," I reply, not trying to disguise how little I care. And with that, I head back for my 'habitat,' hoping that this mission wouldn't take too long.

I should have known my wish wouldn't even come _close_ to being granted, especially with my rotten luck.

No, instead I nearly got myself killed the next day.


	3. I Was Once A Redhead

**3. I Was Once A Redhead**

Training. I both despise and look forward to it. As much as I hate these scientists examining my stats like I'm some lab rat, some part of me welcomes the exercise.

At least, it's been an _even_ mixture of dislike and anticipation until Dr. Brigid comes in. Now, even on the sight of her, Max's Mood-O-Meter is more at 95% annoyed than anything else.

That evening right before dinner, I'm running on one of those inclined treadmill things for a warmup. It's supposed to increase my endurance but just makes me feel really tired, if only because the treadmill is inclined at an angle more suited to mountain climbing. She frowns at me, as if that's supposed to get my attention. I stubbornly stare straight ahead as I concentrate on running.

"I'm here to provide you with more details," she says. I pretend not to hear her. Seeming miffed, she continues. "This assignment has been modified since we last spoke. Now, you have another goal in addition to the deaths of these two. You must also gather information and report back to us thrice daily."

"Where did this new idea come from?" I demand. My voice comes easily, without exertion, even though my pace is fast. "We're assassins, not spies. You never asked us to get 'information' before."

"You must prove that you're versatile," Dr. Brigid leans against the treadmill, nodding to herself as if it makes sense. "Besides, the information we're asking you to retrieve is especially important. The future of the entire human race is in your hands."

I'm getting sick of the whole 'saving the world' thing, to be honest. "What if I don't want it to be in my hands?" I snap back with a scowl.

She responds calmly as ever, not even hearing what I say. "You must do it, Max. Now, if you'll let me tell you exactly what-"

"It makes me want to stop working for you miserable whitecoats!" An odd tremor is in my voice, which sounds unusually loud in my ears. I take another breath, but find myself lacking for words as Dr. Brigid's gaze becomes frigid._  
_

"Reconsider your _arrangement_ with us?" Her voice has become smooth. "And why would you do that?"

"As if I'd spend the rest of my life working for _you_," I say snarkily, my feet pounding on the treadmill. Bravado rises in my chest. "I don't _want_ to be the hero of your stupid revolution. Dylan can be Mr. Poster-Boy-of-Science if he wants. I'm not stopping _him_."

I look again at her, and Dr. Brigid's face is impassive. "I understand," she says, but I doubt she understands at all. A hard glint flickers in her spectacled eyes. "Since you don't wish to speak with me, I'll print out another packet and leave the information in your habitat. I'll see you later." With that, she glides out of the training room.

Stupid Dr. Brigid. She doesn't even know what she's talking about. I shrug. At least I'm leaving tomorrow.

Maybe it's going to require some traveling. I almost smile as I remember flying all over the world to wherever the target might be. But we've never had time for sightseeing - it was always straight to the job, to the shadows to find our target. Sometimes our job requires us to become new people entirely, to transform into cultured chocolate festival attendees or brisk businesspeople or diehard sports fans or animal rights activists for the day. It helps us blend into the crowd and execute the mission with ease. Let's be honest, no one suspects you when you're holding a giant Hello Kitty purse and always asking where the restroom is.

I might have even been a redhead once. It was actually pretty convincing if you ask me.

Oh, I guess you're wondering about the part where I almost get killed. Well, that comes later. Stick around.

* * *

His voice is as quiet as his presence. "Maya, do you think we can continue trusting these people?"

She gives an airy shrug. "I don't really have anything to worry about when you're around."

If she'd been expecting some slight smile and a kind response, she was disappointed. His face remains as cold as a statue's as he speaks. "You'd do better to remain a bit more cautious."

"Oh, you," she answers, flashing a flirtatious smile. "_You're_ the one who's supposed to be all suspicious. It's _my_ job to let loose and relax." Seeing his unamused look, she elbows him in the side. "Oh, come on. Lighten up a little."

"This is not the time."

"Fang, you're just being a stick in the mud as usual!"

"I do my job." He says, his voice barely audible.

"Well, you might be a good bodyguard, but you're a terrible companion."

He remains silent, shaking his dark hair so that it only partially covers his eyes.

"Fine," she huffs. "I guess I should be on the lookout. Didn't they say we'd be in extra danger right before the plan is launched?"

"Don't worry." Fang looks up, eyes scanning the skies. "I'm prepared."


	4. Ninja School

**4. Ninja School**

"Yo, Dylan," I say, finding the bird-kid in question with his nose buried deep in the packet. How does he even _read_ that thing? It's about as interesting as the list of ingredients on the back of shampoo bottle. "Why don't you tell me what you've found out so far?"

His eyes are still glued to the paper. "Uh, right now I'm finding out Maya's favorite ice cream flavor...which is...um...mint chocolate chip. Right."

"If we ever need to poison her ice cream, it's always nice to make sure that the poison goes well with her favorite flavor," I say dryly. "Anything of use?"

He flips another page. "You really should read these things, Max."

"Why should I read them when you read them and tell me the useful parts?"

"Hmph," he says, pretending to be put off. "Here we go," he begins. "Her parents are researchers. She used to attend public school until seventh grade, when she was transferred to some special boarding school in Seattle. She excels in the harmonica and ballet." He frowns. "Sounds pretty normal to me. Everyone else we've targeted has been fairly well-known, or at least in a position of prominence. Definitely not harmonica-playing ballerina teenagers."

"Don't you get sick of it sometimes?" I burst out suddenly. "They _never_ tell us why we're killing these people."

Dylan looks at me with serious eyes. "Max, don't. Don't bring that up."

I know what he's thinking, that the entire place is bugged and that there are researchers monitoring my heart rate and heat signature at this instant. At the same time, I'm sick of behaving like a trained monkey, doing what they want me to do. But I swallow this and fall silent. I'll talk about it with him later.

"Anyway," Dylan continues, "Maya has a friendly and fun personality. Funny, Max, she's kind of the opposite of you-"

"Hey!"

"-kidding! Maya has a fear of cockroaches and heights, and often talks to herself. She-"

"Enough about her!" I say, but I can't rid myself of questions. She's my _clone_. One of us has wings, the other doesn't. It doesn't take a Sherlock to figure out that something's a little fishy here. "Can you tell me what information we're supposed to pry out of them before they die? And I never found out where we're going tomorrow."

"It's all in the packet," Dylan says, trying to sound stern but clearly amused. "If you're going to make me recite it to you, then you'd better go one thing at a time. Want to hear about Fang?"

"Oh, Mr. Perfect-Bodyguard?"

Dylan gives me an appraising look. "Nice nickname. I think I'll borrow it. But not so perfect once you get through with this job, I'm sure."

"Right," I say, but my words feel hollow.

"Moving on. We don't have as much information about him. No info on his parents or birthdate or childhood. He simply seems to have _appeared_ out of nowhere, wings and all. Additionally, it's speculated that, due to the location he was first sighted, he has ties to some corporation - I forget the name - that manufactures sunglasses. Oh, wait. Maybe it was cotton candy. Something like that."

"So how did he end up protecting Maya?"

Dylan sighs. "You know, the thing about these packets is that they're really good at covering up how much we _don't_ know with a huge jumble of words."

_Or how much we're not being told_, I add silently, but instead say, "Fine. At least we know what he looks like. So where are we going tomorrow, and as who?"

"This time we're going to be posing as-"

"-ordinary high school students," I finish glumly. After some of the more fun disguises we've come up with, this is going to be pretty boring.

"-no," Dylan says, raising an eyebrow. "Maya is not in an ordinary high school. The boarding school is for specially gifted children, aimed at teenagers with a gift in intelligence or ...well, killing people."

"So...like ninja school?" I guess, a mental picture of kids bouncing off the walls and hurling daggers already in my mind.

Hardly missing a beat, Dylan nods. "Summed it up pretty well. Everyone's either a specialist in hand-to-hand combat, or poison, or computer hacking, or something of the sort. Which is, I'm guessing, why she was sent there. You know, I'm really curious as to why she has to be killed. Mr. Bodyguard, I can understand. He's dangerous. But Maya? She's just...well...really ordinary."

"We have to watch out," I say, eyes narrowed. There's no way I'm going to fail. "Does this mean that she's good at killing?"

"We don't have any sources that say so. Could be. But then why would she need a bodyguard and be sent to an ultra-safe school designed for practiced killers?"

"Good question," I remark. "So who do we cover as?"

"Dr. Brigid mentioned something about you, Max, staying in the shadows since you're identical to Maya and that would rouse suspicion. I'm supposed to go out in the open and meet the rest of the kids, divert attention if needed, while you do a little skulking around. Try to avoid Mr. Bodyguard, will you?"

"Pssh," I scoff. "As if I'm going to go looking for him."

Dylan looks at me as if to say _Yeah, right._

"Well, I might," I concede. "But only if I feel like it."

"You're not to be seen," Dylan warns, already shaking his head. "Meaning, you're not going to be enrolled as a student in the academy. You're going to be a silent spectator, but we'll communicate with each other at all times."

"Of course. So what's your disguise?"

When asked to find an assassin, most people won't point to the guy who's obviously lost or stupid as he meanders around, or the girl who strides across the room in heels, chatting cheerily on her cellphone while studying her nails. The trick is making sure that guy - or girl - looks different every time. We've made a grand total of four television appearances total, two of me, two of Dylan - and each time, our features are scarcely recognizable, grainy and blurred in the darkness as we escape amongst the crowd. It can't be helped, but we're pros at minimizing the risk.

"None," Dylan says simply. "I told you, these people are masters at stuff like that. They'll recognize a disguise instantly, as good as it may be. I'm better off being myself - it'll attract less suspicion that way. And that'll help me win Maya's trust, should we need it."

"Please," I scoff. "Do we really need her trust to kill her?"

"Interpersonal relations are more important than you think, Max," Dylan says earnestly, and I can't believe that such utter sappiness is coming out of the mouth of a hardened assassin. But the sad thing is, he thinks it's true. And the more I think about it, the more I realize how much his charm has worked to his advantage. He would be like the public face of our team, if we had one. He gets us in the right places, wheedles out the necessary information. I'm the one who actually_ does_ the job most of the time. Win-win situation.

But it was all while under disguise. This time, we'll be showing our true faces. At least, he will be. And the thought makes me edgy.

"So, let me get this straight," I say. "Tomorrow, we're traveling off to Ninja School, to kill a high schooler who supposedly has an invincible bodyguard protecting her, in the presence of a bunch of other ninja teenagers."

"Fun," Dylan says.

"You bet."

**[a/n]** You should definitely review if you want faster updates :)


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